


Charging Towards a Loaded Gun

by NahaFlowers



Category: The Hour
Genre: Crying, Everything gets emotional, F/M, Get me out of here, I need to read this back, Moneypenny - Freeform, My OTP are being idiots again, OTP to end all OTPs, but it's too painful cos I wrote it before watching most of s2, my baaaaaabies, they admit their feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-04
Updated: 2013-05-04
Packaged: 2017-12-10 09:52:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/784720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NahaFlowers/pseuds/NahaFlowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You are charging towards a loaded gun and you think you can miraculously dodge the bullet. Well you can't, not this time." Bel and Freddie, series 2 speculation - written after watching series 2 episode 1.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Charging Towards a Loaded Gun

"You are charging towards a loaded gun and you think you can miraculously dodge the bullet. Well you can't, not this time." Bel hated how her voice quivered as she said this, hated how he could hear how much she cared. She made a point of never showing weakness to anyone; being a woman in a man's world was tough enough as it was, without giving ammunition to their prejudices. Freddie had always been the exception to that, yes, but nowadays she found herself hiding her feelings from him more than anyone else. She hated that he could hear her fear, knowing he would ignore it anyway. Idiotic, stupid boy. Didn't he know Cilenti and his cronies were dangerous? Didn't he know he was going to get himself killed? But that was Freddie. He was focused on the story, he cared more about the truth than his own life, and Bel hated him for that. But she loved him for it too. She wondered if Camille talked to him, whether she'd be able to make him see sense. The very thought of going to Freddie's wife and begging for her help made Bel feel physically sick. Sick because she didn't know whether Freddie would stop for his wife, whether he would listen to her when he wouldn't listen to Bel. She was so unsure of him now. She didn't know him anymore. She felt like crying. She felt like going home, drinking an outrageous amount of vodka and crying herself to sleep. But of course she couldn't do that. Not now. Not when everything mattered so much. Not when stupid, stupid, determined Freddie would get to the bottom of this, no matter what the cost. He needed her now, more than ever, to at least try and temper him, to protect him where she could. She stopped and leaned against the wall with a sigh.

"Moneypenny?" Freddie asked worriedly, peering at her uncertainly. The knife twisted in her gut as she heard his nickname for her, so much more meaningful than before (yet so much less so, for him).

"Just...promise me you won't do anything stupid, okay?" she said, her voice painfully small.

"Since when have I ever done anything like that?" He grinned up at her, and it was infuriating, infuriating how he had no care for his safety, infuriating how he could not see how scared she was for him. _There's a fine line between fury and desire, I tend to find._

Finding she did not grin back at him, merely stared at him with glassy eyes, Freddie's grin faded from his face. He took her hands in his (Bel felt her pulse jump, and despised herself for it) and looked earnestly up into her face.

"Bel..." he started slowly, "if this is about Camille, then..."

"Oh for God's sake, Freddie!" she burst out. "This is not about Camille..." It was almost true.

"Then what?" He sounded genuinely confused; it seemed almost all their arguments revolved around Freddie's wife these days. Freddie had learned not to mention her.

Bel closed her eyes, blinking back the tears that she refused to let him see. "You are going to get yourself killed." She said it through gritted teeth, glaring at Freddie, partly to get her point across, partly to restrain the tears that still threatened. "And it's completely selfish of you. You're not the only one who would be affected, you know. We all care about you, Freddie. I...I don't know..." she paused, unable to get the words out, almost certain she didn't want to. Almost.

"Don't know what?" he asked seriously.

"I don't know...what I would do without you," she whispered. "How I would survive." He had to lean in to hear her.

"Well...you managed well enough while I was gone, didn't you?" He looked at his shoes, awkward, trying to be humorous, but not quite able to keep the bitterness from his voice. It quickly fell flat as he looked up at her face again, his stomach plummeting as he saw the tears that she couldn't hold back any longer. She turned her back to him, tried to walk away, unable to let him see how weak she was for him, but his hand on the small of her back stopped her.

"Moneypenny," he said, agony seeping into his voice.

"Don't call me that!" she snapped, tearing herself away from his grip. She couldn't bear it anymore, this game that they were playing, this dancing around each other. Why didn't she write? Why didn't he tell her?

What would you have done?

She didn't know. Didn't know if she would have come to her senses, didn't know if she could bring herself to spoil his happiness, if she would have been egotistical enough to think that she could make him happier than the fiery passionate French girl ever could. She wonders, all the time, whether he is happy. She hates to think he is. She hates herself for thinking he is not.

"Why didn't you write?" His voice is soft, now, unaccusing, but she feels the accusation, the pain, all the same.

She takes a deep breath. This is not really a conversation she is prepared to have, out in the middle of the corridor where anyone can see them. It's not really a conversation she's prepared to have at all, but it seems there is no getting out of it this time. She walks to her office and Freddie follows her, knowing her so well, knowing this is not another evasion, for once. "Shut the door behind you," she says, turning slowly to look at him as he obliges. She takes another deep breath, calms herself, steadies herself, tries to, anyway. What can she possibly tell him? She was scared to write back, scared to admit how much she missed him, how much he meant to her? She had tried, oh so many times, but could never find the words. And then, it was too late.

"Well?" he asks again, folding his arms, a frown creasing his brow.

She shakes her head, shrugs helplessly. She has imagined this conversation so many times, played it out so many ways, but now she can't think for the life of her what to say. "I...I..." she stammers, as Freddie waits patiently for her. He had waited for her for so long, she thought. One day, she supposed, he had just got tired of waiting. "I didn't know what to say," she finished lamely.

"You didn't know what to say?" Freddie spluttered angrily. "I write you two letters, telling you how much I miss you, asking how everything is going, pleading with you to come and join me," he snorts in self-derision, "and you don't know what to say?" The tears are coming and thick and fast now from Bel's eyes as he assaults her with the truth, the cold, hard truth of her callousness and stupidity. "How about the truth?" he finishes. Both are breathing heavily as if they've just run a marathon.

"The truth? You want the truth, Freddie?"

He nods, mutely, though suddenly he is not quite sure he can handle it. Not this time. Not from her.

"Alright," she says, taking a breath, turning away from him. She does not want to see his face when she tells him. There's only so much agony one woman can take. "The truth is...the truth is that I l-love you, Frederick Lyon. When you came back, interrupting me like you always do and I was so happy...and then...Camille." She shrugged helplessly again, wanting him to know that she did not hold anything against his wife...after all, it wasn't her fault that Bel was in love with Freddie. Sometimes she wished it were. It would be so much easier if she had someone else to blame.

"Bel..." Freddie's voice was hoarse, strangled. She fought the temptation to look at him, gauge his reaction. He cleared his throat. "How long?"

"Does it matter now?" she asked bitterly. She finally turned to see him nodding, his eyes as wet as hers, looking down at his fingers. She took a shaky breath. "I don't know. I...forever, probably. I just didn't realise it, until...until,"

"Until when, Moneypenny?" He leaned forward, looking as if his life depended on her answer.

"Until...it was too late," she finished, with difficulty, forcing the words out. She looked down at his shoes, toe to toe with hers. They were so close, so close...

"Oh, Bel," Freddie whispered, his voice cracking slightly as he brought his hand up to her face, stroking her cheek with his thumb. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"How could I? It wasn't fair on you. I promised myself I would never tell you, promised myself I would be happy for you."

"What changed?" His voice was so soft now, as tender as the ink-stained pad that was rubbing her tear-stained cheek.

"Well," she twitched the corners of her mouth, trying to lighten the leaden atmosphere that had settled all around them, "you basically forced me too!" She knew she sounded hysterical, but she couldn't help herself.

"Bel..." said Freddie sternly.

"I couldn't bear the thought of losing you, and you never knowing. I'm so, so sorry Freddie," she whispered, tightly.

He looked deeply, earnestly into her eyes. The eager boy who had grown into the man she loved. The man she could not help believing she was meant to be with, no matter what she tried to tell herself. "Don't be," he said. He smiled a little, through his tears, and she smiled back.

"We're such idiots, aren't we?" she said.

"We are, indeed, top of the class, prize fools," he affirmed, pulling her closer, his arms wrapping around her shoulders. "I think we'd even give Hector a run for his money."

She giggled half-heartedly, unable to tear her eyes away from his lips.

"Bel..." She quickly glanced back up at him, seeing the question in his eyes, and nodded. Immediately, his mouth was over hers, lips caressing softly, achingly. She whimpered, and Freddie took advantage of her open mouth to probe her tongue with his, unsure at first, but quickly becoming painfully familiar. Bel kissed back with everything she had, certain there would never be anything else. This was it, for them. This was all there was, this moment, the two of them, existing outside everything else. This was all there ever could be. When this ended, the world would shatter.

They didn't know how long they stayed like that, wrapped up in one another, being who they were meant to be. They pulled away at last, foreheads still touching, unwilling to lose contact completely. He looked into her eyes, gaze filled with sorrow. "I...can't, Bel. I just...can't. I'm so sorry."

"I know," she said, managing a small smile. It hurt more than any other she'd had to produce for him over the past few months. "It's alright, Freddie." She forced her smile to widen. Freddie looked at her sceptically. "I'll be alright. It's late. Go home."

"But...what about you?" He sounded so unsure, now, so much like the boy she used to know, and it hurt, it hurt like hell. But she had told him she was alright, so she would be.

"I'm sure I can find my way home by myself," she said dryly, and she knew now why Lix used the tone so much; it was so much easier to keep your eyes dry.

"Yes. I know. All right." He fiddled awkwardly with his jacket, unwilling to walk away from her. "Are you sure I can't walk you home?" he asked suddenly, feeling guilty about not doing so since he had returned.

"No, that's alright, Freddie. I've still got some work to finish off, anyway." And now her eyes looked piggy and her smile was utterly false, and Freddie knew she was lying, knew she would break down in her office as soon as he had left, knew suddenly, with a sixth sense he had always had for Bel, that that was what she had done nearly every night since his return.

"No," he said.

"No, what?" Bel asked, looking up from where she had settled herself behind her desk, surprised.

"No, I won't leave."

Bel ground her teeth in frustration. Couldn't he just leave her in peace, to mourn over all she had lost? No, he had to be stubborn. He had to be Freddie.

"Why not? What would possibly be achieved by you staying?"

"Well," he said slowly, "you'll get more work done if I'm here to help, won't you?" Bloody stubborn, irritating, infuriating man. Couldn't he just leave well enough alone?

"What about Camille?"

For a moment Freddie looked down, conflicted. Finally he said, "You need me more than her."

Silence for a moment. Freddie looked like he was waiting for a spiky retort, that Bel didn't need anyone, let alone him. Or worse, that she didn't want him there. Couldn't bear it.

Instead, she smirked. "Better go and steal Lix's whisky then, if we're going to make a night of it.

He grinned back at her. "No need," he said, pulling a bottle of Scotch from his inner pocket.

They were friends again. And even if that was all they could ever be, it was enough.


End file.
